Idle. And dry.

I came back from my home. Again in the world of materialistic charms and glossy people.
The two days seemed to be crawling at the snail's pace. It felt as if those are two weeks or months... 
And the regular irregularity started to peep in my day. The nights started to seem longer and sleepless; and the days unnecessarily swept by... I just idling the whole time.
Time had kind of sucked out all the interest in social-networking, mailing, texting and calling from my side. The day would just start and end with a bold type faced word: IDLE.

I had seen the face of death.
Closely. So closely that i had grown afraid of it to such an extent that tears ceased to show their usual emotion in me. And maybe the idleness was its expression.

The skeleton like ambiguous form still haunts me. It flashes on my mind's eye whenever I sink in a chair and try to breathe at peace. No matter how heavy I feel, tears never seem to make their way out of me...
And the idleness still lingers. And refuses to be shaken off...

The idleness has made me dry. And complex.